


Holding Out for a Hero 2: The Christmas Episode

by J_Q



Series: Holding Out for a Hero [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 10 years post s7, Canon Compliant, HEA, Hero!Mickey, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Romantic Adventure, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 13:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Q/pseuds/J_Q
Summary: Holding Out for a Hero part 1 is, according to comments, “part Raiders of the Lost Ark, part Shameless, part Scarface” in which you will find Mickey “slicing his way through the jungles of Central America” in this “Gallavich jungle adventure that I never (always?) knew I needed”.Well, now in Holding Out for a Hero part 2, Ian “the tenderfoot” is in trouble again and there’s only one man up to the task of saving his ass. #Hero!MickeyAll five chapters uploaded as a Christmas gift to Gallavich fans. Xo





	1. Make my wish come true

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, this time, to Mariah Carey for putting “All I Want for Christmas is You” into my head over and over again the last few weeks. Now I share it with all of you. No need to thank me.
> 
> PS I suggest reading part one first.

For Nicrenkel: the secret agent who stole my heart

 

I just want you for my own  
More than you could ever know  
Make my wish come true oh  
All I want for Christmas is you

 

_Ding Dong._

Who the fuck could that be? Mickey mumbled to himself. The QuickBooks ledger mocking him in response. How had he ended up being the financial genius in the family? This shit was the worst, entering fucking numbers into little squares. But if he left Ian to do it, they’d be years behind and they haven’t even been in business for years. The guy was slow as fuck at this stuff.

Probably because he spends his days texting Mickey funny gifs he finds on-line instead of doing actual goddamn work. Well, Mickey thought, this here moment calls for the gif of the panda who has a shit fit at work and smashes everything in sight including the fucking computer. He feels the panda’s pain.

After more than a year managing vacation rental properties in and around Cartagena, he and Ian had established a groove. Mickey took care of the grounds and the pools and the paperwork, and Ian flitted around socializing and schmoozing. At least, Mickey thought, that’s what it looked like from his point of view.

_Ding Dong._

He glanced out the little arched window at the front walk, but it was too dark to see whoever was at the door. Plus the Christmas lights from the house across the street reflected off the window leaving multicolored streaks of light on the glass. Christmas in Colombia was nothing like how he remembered Christmas back in Chicago. It was hot as balls for starters, not to mention the Colombians took this shit seriously. You couldn’t spit without hitting some sort a holiday decoration.

He stood up, dropping the stack of invoices he was entering onto the desk next to the laptop and his half finished, piss warm bottle of Aguila. He took a quick swig anyway as he left the office. Never let a beer go to waste was his motto.

_Ding Ding Ding._

“Hold your fucking horses,” he half hollered at the wooden door. He had to kick three pairs of Ian’s shoes out of the way to get to the door. Talk about fucking horses, he lived with a goddamn clotheshorse.

Grasping the bronze knob in his hand, he swung the door open. “Yeah?” He ran his tongue along his lower lip when he realized what was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

A pair of well fitting, faded jeans distressed and ripped, the cuffs rolled up above a pair of grey Clarks slip-ons. The waistband of the jeans riding low on the sexiest set of hips this side of the Darién Gap. A deep blue slim fit t-shirt that barely reached the top of the jeans. A grey baseball cap turned backwards framing a smooth, strong jaw and playful green puppy eyes.

And a large green and purple box that contained the heavily smell of Firenze Pizza.

The delivery guy met his eyes with an expectant look, then snapped his gum loudly. “You ordered a pizza?”

“Apparently.”

“Yeah, so that’ll be, like,” Snap! “42,000 pesos, man.”

While Mickey dug into the front pockets of his camo jogger pants, the guy craned his neck to see over his shoulder. “Nice place ya got here? Live alone?”

“Uh, no, my boyfriend lives here with me.”

“Oh, yeah, he home now?”

“No.”

“So, like, you’re all alone then?”

“Well, you’re here.” Mickey held out the cash, but the delivery boy flicked his eyebrows then looked down. The hand that wasn’t holding the pizza box lifted the edge of his t-shirt away from the waistband of his jeans, revealing a trim strip of pelvic bone. His finger slid under the edge of the jean material making room for the Colombian _pesos_.

Before Mickey could decide if he was going to slip the cash into those jeans or not, the guy asked, “That include a tip for me?” He lifted one eyebrow in inquiry but ruined the seriousness by blowing a decent sized bubble with his pink, strawberry smelling gum.

“No, sorry, I don’t have enough to tip you.”

The delivery boy frowned and dropped his t-shirt back in place, and Mickey felt somewhat bereft that the smooth skin was once again hidden. “What are we gonna do then? It’s pretty standard to give your delivery boy a tip. A good tip.”

“Hmm, well, my boyfriend should be home soon, and he probably has some cash on him.”

“I ain’t got all day, dude. Like, I got other pizzas to deliver. We need to figure something out.”

“Would you take something in exchange?”

“What’d’ya got?”

“Let’s see. I think I got a Juan Valez gift certificate around here.”

“I don’t drink coffee.” Mickey snorted at that, but continued.

“Kay. Well, my boyfriend made some delicious cupcakes,” he said thoughtfully, gesturing with his beer bottle to the darkened kitchen area. “I could wrap you up a care package.”

“Nah, I’m watching my figure,” he tsked shaking his head. “Why don’t I come in and we can discuss this?”

Mickey stepped back from the open doorway and watched as the tall, lightly muscled body walked past him toward the living area. He turned toward Mickey when he reached the back of the sofa.

Draining the beer bottle in one long swig, then setting it on a side table, Mickey said in a low voice, “I do have another idea.”

One slim hip cocked to the side and Mickey got a quick glimpse of that skin again.

Snap! “Ya, what’s that? I’m open to ideas.”

“How about I just show you?”

He closed the distance between them in two strides, stopping when the pizza box came between them. With his eyes locked on the delivery guy’s, he lifted his right hand to the edge of the pizza box and pushed it aside, closing the distance between them completely.

They stood inches apart staring at each other. Mickey’s eye were hot and determined now, not playful. The delivery boy stopped snapping his gum and almost choked on it.

Moments ticked by and nothing happened. Just eyes on eyes, deep breaths through noses, lips parting. Then Mickey slowly lowered himself to a squat, the muscles in his thighs tensing to hold his weight, his hands found those hips and shaped around them. Squeezing and kneading briefly before his fingers slipped under the waistband and slid along that velvet skin making their way to the button fly.

Five silver buttons opened one by one.

 _One_. Mickey lifted his eyes to meet the delivery boy’s, then raised his eyebrows in question.

 _Two_. The delivery boy swallowed hard and nodded that they had a deal.

 _Three_. Mickey gave an approving smile as he started to fill out the front of those jeans.

 _Four_. The delivery boy almost dropped the pizza box when Mickey ran his thumbs along his hardness.

 _Five_. Mickey swore under his breath when he pulled back the material of the jeans to reveal the red low-rise briefs that no longer covered his full length. He brushed his tongue along the exposed tip, then pulled back to lower the jeans and briefs enough that he could give the delivery boy a really good tip.

He grasped the shaft firmly and brought his mouth to the hard length with almost aggressive determination. When the guy started to whimper a little and pull away, Mickey wrapped his free arm around the slim hips in a vice-like hold.

His thighs were starting to burn from holding his squat position but that just spurred him on. He was going to make the guy come quickly because his pizza was getting cold. He loved the _cuatro carnes_ from Firenze Pizza.

The pace, the suction, the tongue work were taking their toll, and Mickey could tell that the arm around the guy’s hips was doing a lot of the work in keeping him on his feet. When he started to thrust himself into Mickey’s mouth and the helpless noises coming from his throat increased, Mickey prepared himself. As he tensed and Mickey’s mouth filled, his hands found those hips again and squeezed.

After a moment, Mickey pulled off and brought the jeans and fitted briefs back into place, but then changed his mind. He uncovered the softening cock and pressed his lips to the front, just under the head, in a soft, loving kiss. Then nuzzled his cheek against the smooth skin where his lips had just been. Pausing briefly, he let himself feel the warm, tingly feelings he was experiencing.

The fingers that had been grasping the back of the sofa for support moved to the back of his head and lightly wove their way through his hair.

With a deep sigh, Mickey stood up on weak legs and met the delivery guy’s eyes, “My pizza?” The guy just stood there, so he took the box and started to move around the sofa to take a seat. “You can show yourself out, yeah? My boyfriend will be home soon, and he wouldn’t be happy to know you were here.”

Placing the large square box on the metal coffee table, he picked up the remote control and flicked the tv to a Colombian telenova before flopping back on the sofa.

As images of the ex-race car driver turned chauffeur filled his screen, Mickey could hear some shuffling behind him and then an upside-down face appeared in front of his, so he laid his head on the back of the sofa. “You’re home?” he said with a sigh.

In response, he got a kiss. He let himself be kissed for a bit, then brought his hand to Ian’s shoulder and tugged hard pulling him across the back of the sofa and into his lap. The redhead flopped back on the sofa cushions with his legs across Mickey’s lap and his feet hanging over the arm. They grinned at each other.

Mickey slipped his hand under Ian’s shirt, then pushed it up his chest so he could get an eyeful. With a satisfied nod, he once again met Ian’s eyes. “I got us a pizza for supper,” he said.

“I hope you gave the delivery boy a good tip.”

“He seemed pretty fucking satisfied.”

 

A couple hours later, they were splayed across the sofa, a mess of legs, arms and torsos. Empty pizza box open on the coffee table, the flickering lights of an old action movie on the tv competing with the colorful string of lights on the little 3 foot Christmas tree. In a sleepy stupor, Mickey was trying to make his mouth work to suggest they head to bed when a gun shot rang out. He pushed Ian to the floor between the sofa and coffee table knocking the pizza box off in his haste and landing with his forearms on either side of Ian.

With his body covering Ian’s, he held his finger to his lips to silence the redhead’s inevitable questions while his other hand slid beneath the chocolate brown leather sofa cushion for his backup Ruger.

There were little arched windows everywhere in their white stucco bungalow, and Mickey was only able to pinpoint the location of the gunshot generally. It had come from the east side of the house, either from their neighbor’s place or the small community courtyard located out the backdoor.

He was focussed intently on any sounds coming from outside the open, grate covered windows as well as on his intuition, letting it guide him to his next move. So he was a little taken aback when he felt Ian’s leg wrap around his thigh and his hips shift until his dick pressed into Mickey’s hip.

“What the fuck, Gallagher?” he hissed under his breath, looking down into his sweet face. Ian’s bottom lip was between his teeth and his eyes were hot.

“Sorry, Mick,” he whispered back but took all the apology out of it when he arched his back making it possible to rub himself harder against Mickey. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re in action hero mode.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asked with a small grin and a lift of his eyebrows.

The cockiness of the gesture pulled an “Mmm,” out of Ian, and his eyes half closed. “Why don’t you show me what that loaded gun is for?”

“Serious?” Mickey asked, surprised despite himself.

Ian just lifted his hand to Mickey’s cheek and ran it around the back of his head then pulled himself up until their lips met. Pressing up and into the warm, wet interior of Mickey’s mouth, he moaned again in helpless surrender to the lethal combination of total adoration and sexual need, and Mickey pressed back, his breath catching.  

He lowered his torso so Ian could rest back against the stone tile floor, a hand protecting his head from the cool, hard surface. Ian continued to devour his mouth as he rubbed against Mickey’s hip, so Mickey shifted and their dicks found each other. Ian frantically wound his arms around his neck, holding him tightly. Words of love slipping out between sloppy, wet, wild kisses.

As their hearts raced and their breathing filled the room, Ian pulled away enough to look into Mickey’s eyes. “Marry me please, Mickey,” he whispered it then closed his eyes as his body tensed and shuddered in Mickey’s arms. His head pushed back into Mickey’s hand exposing the column of his neck to Mickey’s gaze and long sighs escaped from between his parted lips.

Mickey didn’t think his heart could take much more. It felt like it was going to pound out of his chest and stop completely. Watching Ian orgasm in his arms from shear intoxication over him was likely the headiest experience of his life, and he tipped Ian’s head forward so he could cover his lips with his own, showing him how he felt.

But just before his own body tensed, he slid his lips off Ian’s and moved toward his ear. “I married you ten years ago,” he breathed.

They lay there returning slowly to reality: the Ruger grasped in Mickey’s hand, the cool tiles hard against Ian’s back, the evidence of their encounter saturating their pants. Mickey pulled away from Ian’s ear and back up to his elbows. Their eyes met. Ian’s were huge and tentative, like he was holding back his reaction in case it was all in his imagination.

In that moment, Mickey couldn’t have felt more lightweight and aligned with life. The pair of them with jizz-filled jeans, hiding on the floor from stray bullets, a Ruger beside their heads and Mickey was about to formally propose to Ian. Perfect.

“Ian, you’re the love of my fucking life. Will you marry me?”

Ian’s chest filled and pushed against Mickey’s but before he could answer, a tear rolled out of each eye and ran along his temples. “I would be fucking honoured, Mickey,” he replied with equal formality.

“Me too, Ian.”

Ian sniffled and one more tear rolled down the side of his head and Mickey kissed it before it reached his hair. “I guess it’s a good thing we weren’t really in any danger.”

Ian shrugged. “I woulda died happy.”

“Yeah,” he placed a wet kiss on the tip of Ian’s slightly peeling nose, “yeah, me too.”


	2. Holding on to me so tight

'Cause I just want you here tonight  
Holding on to me so tight  
What more can I do  
Oh, Baby all I want for Christmas is you

 

After Mickey deposited Ian in the bedroom and made him promise under penalty of death to stay put until he returned, he slipped out the backdoor to have a look around.

The gun shot had come from the direction of the little gated community courtyard. As it was past 10pm, the full moon and the twinkling white lights strung around the ornamental iron fence were the only light Mickey had to see around the polished concrete square that linked the dozen bungalows.

He could see the unlit red and white Christmas lanterns and the little nativity scene packed with letters to Jesus written by the kids in the community. The neighbor ladies had woken up two weeks ago on December 1 in a frenzy to get the place decorated for the holiday season. Naturally, Ian had jumped at the chance to go Christmas on his ass, forcing him to climb the step ladder repeatedly hooking endless strands of lights around the courtyard. But he begrudgingly got a little sentimental every time he looked outside.

Once his eyes adjusted to the night, he glanced around but didn’t see any movement or anything out of the ordinary. The lights were out in the other bungalows, even their neighbor’s directly to the east. He stared hard at the white rough faced stone exterior of the guy’s house, suspicion edging its way along his spine. The tattooed hermit had moved in a little over a month ago, just suddenly living there. No truck full of shit announcing his arrival. Not one single visitor that Mickey could see. Just a dude appearing out of thin air.

Since his arrival, Mickey had kept one eye on the guy’s place, so while they had been hanging the strands of Christmas lights, he’d noticed the guy at his living room window watching. Specifically, watching Ian as he playfully placed his hands on Mickey’s ass to keep him from falling off the three step ladder.

When the guy noticed Mickey’s intense look, they’d had a long, heated staring contest through the glass. No words needed to pass between them for all information to be transferred. Mickey knew hunter eyes when he saw them; they looked at him in the mirror every day.

At the moment though, there didn’t appear to be anything happening at the guy’s house. His gaze made one more sweep of the courtyard, pausing briefly on the tall, stacked stone fireplace in the west corner. Fucking Gallagher had ruined this courtyard for him by groping him nearly senseless behind that fireplace a couple weeks ago. They’d been making s’mores, something neither of them had ever done before, and the sticky marshmallow shit was getting everywhere, so Ian was trying to lick his fingers clean. Mickey had watched that pretty fucking closely because it usually meant something else entirely when Ian had his fingers in his mouth.

Suddenly Ian had stood up scraping the metal chair legs against the cement patio and pulled Mickey out of his chair and around the outer wing of the fireplace. “Just wanna cope a quick feel,” he’d explained.

By the time they’d re-emerged from the behind the fireplace a few minutes later, Mickey had been a helpless mess, standing there watching Ian close the fireplace grate and flue and drop the s’mores leftovers into a cloth grocery bag. He’d paused part way through cleaning up to smile at Mickey. “Why don’t you go inside and get undressed,” he’d suggested. “Get ready for me.”

Mickey had made a fucking beeline for the bedroom, which was what he was planning to do right now. As he turned toward their backdoor though, a car started on the front street, the sound sending a tingle down his spine. It sounded like their Jeep.

Yanking open the door, he yelled Ian’s name but got no response. His eyes scanned the house as he made his way to the back bedroom and bathroom. Both were empty. Once more, he yelled Ian’s name, louder this time and with an edge. But he was running toward the front door, which was unlocked. As he headed out onto the interlocking brick sidewalk leading to the front street, he realized they had never locked the front door after Ian arrived with the pizza.

He stopped at the narrow roadway. The little green Jeep was gone. Stowing the Ruger in the small of his back, Mickey jogged across the street till he reached the quiet intersection, glancing right and left. No cars. No people. Nothing.

No Ian.

“What the fuck?” he cursed loudly, trying desperately to hold onto even a semblance of sanity and control. He thought about the last time he’d done this very thing, raced out of the house calling after Ian in desperation but being left behind to wait and worry. Now it was happening again, and he was so fucking certain that Ian hadn’t left him, but he desperately hoped that he had because if he hadn’t then the he was in trouble. Serious fucking trouble.

Goddamn it, the idiot didn’t even need to leave the house for shit to happen.

Back in the bungalow, he returned to the bedroom frantically checking the closet and under the bed. He pushed aside the suitcase that Ian had started packing for their trip to Chicago in three days. It was filled with festively wrapped gifts for his family and Mandy and Yev and caused Mickey’s heart to squeeze in fucking panic. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eye sockets and took a deep breath.

Ian’s phone!

Hurrying to the office, he found his own phone beside the stack of invoices he’d been working on. No blinking light indicating a missed message. As he swiped his way in, he hesitated. If he called Ian and he was in trouble, the ringing phone would give away its presence. He tried to remember if Ian’s phone was set to notify him with incoming texts. He couldn’t remember.

“Fuck,” he muttered looking at the blinking cursor and the “enter message” prompt. Tears were swimming in his eyes making it hard to focus. He typed: _Baby where r u_.

Taking a deep breath, he walked into the main entry way and hit send.

Immediately, a buzzing noise sounded from the living room. He moved around the sofa toward the noise.

“Oh, god,” he uttered, kicking aside the forgotten pizza box that had fallen to the floor along with Ian’s phone. He reached down for it and, in the process, found himself in the space where he and Ian had fucking dry humped their way to an engagement.

 _Marry me please, Mickey_.

Mickey stood up and squared his shoulders. The frantic lip biting and nervous hand gestures were gone. It their place was grim determination. Some motherfucker was about to pay in a big fucking way. Pocketing Ian’s phone, he scrolled through the numbers on his own phone while heading back toward the bedroom.

After three rings, he heard a familiar baritone, “Mickey! What a delight to hear your voice, especially at a moment like this.” An assortment of moans accompanied this announcement, not all of them from the speaker.

“Jesus Christ, Sebastián, are you fucking while talking to me on the phone?”

“Si, but by the looks of things, he does not seem to mind,” Sebastián chuckled happily.

“Well, I fucking mind. Pull your dick out of his ass and get over here. It’s really fucking important.” Mickey jabbed his finger into the phone screen with all the fury of a man on the edge.

In the bedroom, he tossed the two phones and his Ruger onto the blue down blanket next to Ian’s discarded jeans. They bounced a little because Ian got army on their bed every morning with his _four-inch fold over six inches from the top edge of the blanket to the sheet_ military bullshit. He could feel emotion erupting in his chest again thinking about their bed.

That morning, while the alarm was beeping its annoying intrusion and the sun was streaking across the bed, Ian had pulled the light blue cotton sheet over their heads and smiled a sleepy content grin as its cool softness floated down and landed on their cheeks. They had just smiled at each other in the cocoon he’d made, and Mickey had stared into Ian’s eyes thinking they were the same eyes that had stared back him angrily from behind the counter at the Kash n Grab, pleadingly from outside an old abandoned building, smittenly from some dude’s loft, regretfully from the other side of the border. It was in those eyes, Mickey thought, that he’d learned how to love.

Catching himself staring desperately at the bed, he snapped back to reality and pulled his sweats off throwing them in the corner of the room with a vengeance. No fucking way was he going to ever get back in that bed without Ian. In fact, he figured, this time there was probably no recovering from Ian.

His navy blue tactical gear pants were folded on the top shelf of the closet gathering dust from disuse. They were about to get some fucking use.

Tucking his black tank top into the stretch waistband, he moved to the tall 6-drawer dresser and yanked open the top drawer so forcefully several framed pictures of Yevgeny that were sitting on the dresser tipped over. Pawing through the various weapons and gear, he slid two 7-round 9mm magazines into the hip pockets, a 7-inch fixation bowie knife and collapsible baton into a cargo pocket, a rapid release knife into the ankle pocket, then grabbed a palm sized leather sap and a griffin pocket tool. You couldn’t be too fucking prepared.

He eyed the T shaped push dagger and, with a certain amount of pleasure, imagined how much he could hurt someone with that, but passed it by.

His hand moved over the pocket slingshot, its matte black finish smooth to the touch. Ian had been so excited to tell him it was made from precision machined aerospace grade aluminum type shit. He’d given the slingshot to Mickey as a birthday gift because Mickey had given Ian a Smith and Wesson pepper spray pen and matching key chain.

Living in Colombia wasn’t all sunsets and beaches; it was also organized political and criminal armed groups heavily involved in drug trade, extortion, kidnapping and robbery. So they’d went out to a large playground and practiced hitting targets with the slingshot, pulling the sturdy black rubber band back over and over again. They’d laughed their asses off at how invigorating it was to knock empty cans off the old metal seesaw like a couple of naughty school boys.

Fuck! He needed to keep his head in the fucking game.

He stuffed the slingshot and 5mm ball bearings into the knee pockets of his combat pants, and grabbed one final item from the drawer, a shove knife breaching tool. He was gonna break down his neighbor’s goddamn door with pleasure because his gut knew the sneaky motherfucker had something to do with this.

Both phones, the pistol, his multi-tool wallet and keys joined the other gear in his pockets, then he stepped out into the humid night air.

Nobody fucks with Ian.

Mickey was prepared for war. In that moment, he knew that he was capable of doing anything to get Ian home safely. But in the next moment, he remembered decisions he’d made in the past where Ian was concerned and how those decisions altered the course of their life in ways so huge it was fucking mind-boggling.

 _Here and now. Breathe and relax. In battle and in life_.

Mickey’s interpretation of this quote was don’t be a fucking hothead especially when you wanted to fucking kill someone for taking away what’s yours. So he took those breaths, one at a time.

The entire street of single family houses had heavy grilles on every window and solid cement fences. It wasn’t particularly inviting, but Mickey was used to the safety measures by now, and the street was quiet and peaceful. Nothing out of the ordinary.

As he made his way toward his neighbor’s door, his brain registered how badly the chipped yellow paint needed a touch up. This almost made him smirk. Little more than a year taking care of rich fuckers’ holiday properties had turned him into a home renovation expert.

Mickey jammed his finger into the doorbell with a vengeance. Nobody answered.

Palming the shove knife, he slipped it between the door and the molding just as he heard the low purr of an expensive piece of machinery pull up behind him. A matte black Audi convertible slid to a stop between a beat-up Troller half ton and a new model GM. Immediately, the driver got out and made his way up the brick sidewalk toward Mickey, the Audi’s key fob swinging nonchalantly from his manicured fingers. The skin tight white t-shirt matched the blinding teeth and set off bronze skin. The dark jeans showcased an impressive package and well-defined thighs. The loose hipped strut brought their phone conversation back to Mickey’s mind, so he shook his head to dislodge the thoughts.

When he reached the iron gate, his stubbled, chiselled face broke into a smile and Mickey let the breaching tool hang at his side as relief flooded his body. He wasn’t alone.

Sebastián started to laugh as he entered the small front yard.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Mickey scowled at the other man.

“Well,” he began with a hand gesture that encompassed Mickey’s whole being. “You look like you’re ready to single-handedly take on the People’s Army, but you decided to wear a shirt with a cute little unicorn on it?”

Mickey looked down at his shirt. “Why does everyone think he’s cute? He ain’t fucking cute!” He poked his finger into his chest. “It says right here that he’ll cut you.”

“He is very badass, yes.” Sebastián replied, still smiling and Mickey narrowed his eyes. “But only on the outside. Definitely a soft center.” When Mickey just continued to glare at him, he shrugged, “Fine, what is so important that I had to leave an unsatisfied lover in my bed? I do not want to tarnish my perfect reputation.”

Without preamble, Mickey explained, “Ian’s fucking missing.”

Sebastián’s smile fell from his face. “Mierda.”

Mickey turned back toward the door, gripping the breaching tool until his fingers ached. “This motherfucker has something to do with it. I’m sure of it.”

“Why? What happened?” Sebastián asked, placing a hand on Mickey’s shoulder and attempting to turn him so they could face each other. But Mickey wasn’t having any of that. He needed to get this show on the road. It had already been almost half an hour since he’d returned to the house to find it empty.

As the door jam made a cracking noise and the wooden door swung open, Mickey gave Sebastián the 30 second rundown of events. Before entering, they drew their weapons listening intently.

Mickey entered first, his eyes scanning the darkened entryway. The room felt still and silent, empty.  Sebastián moved in behind him until they stood abreast, and for the second time, Mickey was grateful for having a, Jesus, a fucking friend. He lifted his chin toward the open living room. They moved slowly forward.

The layout was just like their place but in reverse, so Mickey knew what to expect as they moved through the house. What he didn’t expect, though, was a body sprawled on the floor near the back door. For one heart stopping moment, Mickey thought it was Ian, but then he saw the dark skin and hair. It wasn’t their neighbor either.

Sebastián moved toward the prone man, and Mickey gestured that he’d do a quick scan of the remaining rooms. With no further bodies, alive or dead, in the house, the two men stood over the body. “Dead,” Sebastián said quietly. “I recognize him. He’s sicario.”

Mickey’s head shot up at this information. “No fucking way.” A surge of panic exploded though his body leaving him almost lightheaded. A Colombian banger hitman motherfucker. Jesus Christ, he knew that the Colombian sicarios made the Mexicans look like kids playing with their big brother’s guns. They used motorcycles to get close to their hits, and they prided themselves on never wasting a fucking bullet. Two bullets, head and heart.

Once more, Sebastián’s hand found his shoulder and his fingers dug into the bunched muscles. The sharp pain brought Mickey back to the moment and he sucked in a breath. “Tell me.”

“Diego Varela. Last I heard, he was head of _Urabeños_ hitmen, working under Darias “Otoniel” Usuga. The _Bandas Criminales_ have splintered again and the factions are killing each other over newly opened drug corridors out of Medellin.”

“I thought shit was quiet down there. That the DEA was nailing capos as fast as they pop up.”

“Internal rivalries are out of control, and sicarios who have been laying low for a couple of years are being pulled out of retirement. The death count is over 1000 right now, and it’s been less than a month.”

“That’s about how long this asshole has been holed up here.”

“Sounds like he’s in hiding.”

“So Ian’s been kidnapped by some motherfucker who’s running from one of these baby cartel’s hitmen?”

“It appears to be so,” Sebastián agreed, returning his gaze to the man with a bullet hole in his forehead and his chest, blood pooled around the body. “It also appears that whoever lives here was skilled enough to take down _Urabeños_ most notorious hitman.”

“Another hitman?”

“That would be my guess. A rival faction? One of their own?”

“Why take Ian and the Jeep? Cause he needed a fucking lift?”

Sebastián faced Mickey fully and they stared at each other. Mickey’s inner cheek was raw from all the gnawing he was doing and his gut was a fucking mess, but he knew his inner warrior was going to see this shit to its conclusion. Whatever the fuck that looked like.

“Hostage,” he concluded.


	3. Bring my baby back to me

And everyone is singing  
I hear those sleigh bells ringing  
Santa won't you bring me  
The one I really need  
Won't you please bring my baby to me quickly

 

Ian pulled the Jeep to a slow stop at the red light and swallowed nervously while sliding his eyes to the young man sitting in the passenger’s seat with a baby Glock in his lap. Despite being neighbors for the last few weeks, they had never spoken until today and currently, they hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words since getting in the vehicle. So far all conversation revolved around turning left or right, and that conversation was one sided and laced with a heavy Spanish accent. Thankfully, the guy spoke English or this would be a fucking nightmare. Ian’s vocabulary went beyond _gracias_ now, but he certainly wasn’t up to a full on Spanish conversation.

They’d been driving for about 10 minutes through the mostly quiet streets of Getsemani, the once-seedy neighborhood that borders Cartagena’s walled Old City and was now a social hub in the city. As Ian continued through the green light, the bright graffiti and Spanish colonial buildings along Calle de la Sierpe passed by in a blur. Despite the dance halls and public plazas being closed on a Sunday night, the endless strings of colorful Christmas lights were somehow comforting.

He pushed back memories of walking the streets of the barrio with Mickey, stopping at food vendors, open air art shows and poetry readings, listening to Mickey’s snarky remarks the whole time. As they passed the now closed Malagana Café & Bar though, he let out a deeply held breath. The memory of the cheery rooftop terrace, fruity drinks, live music and sultry dancing too much.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. “Mickey is gonna kill you.” A burst of pleasure shot through Ian at that statement.

“Si, this I know,” he replied quietly, his raspy voice hollow and empty sounding. Ian shivered a little. “I need help so I need you.”

Ian was afraid to ask what kind of help. Glancing again at the guy, he took in the industrial tribal piercings running along his ear lobe and the neck tattoo that covered the entire left side and appeared to continue under his _Los Cafetoros_ jersey. He was a little on the skinny side, but the meat that did cover his bones was muscle. Despite the whole kidnapping thing and the undercurrent of brutality that came off the guy in waves, the best description Ian could think of was sexy mysteriousness.

Catching Ian’s eye on him, he asked, “How many in his graveyard?”

Ian frowned. “What?” he asked confused.

He watched as an index finger encircled in a thick metal ring shaped like a motorcycle tire lifted to the side of his neck. The deeply tanned skin was almost completely tattooed in deep black crucifixes creating an eerie graveyard of sorts. Hovering over all the graves was a black raven.

How many in Mickey’s graveyard? Is that what the guy was asking? Ian’s head snapped back to face the road.

Had Mickey ever killed anyone? Of course, he must have. In Chicago? In prison? In the jungle?

“You no think he is a virgin?” He let out a laugh that didn’t sound like he was enjoying the moment at all.

“Well, he sure as hell won’t be after he gets his hands on you,” Ian snapped. Then it dawned on him that the neck tattoo was this guy’s graveyard. Holy fuck! Who the hell kills that many people? And then tattoos it on their fucking neck? Well, Ian sure as hell was going to find a way to not become his next bit of ink.

Following the guy’s directions, Ian pulled into a half empty parking lot and cut the engine. They were parked across the street from a bright yellow building with large blue letters announcing the _Terminal de Transporte de Cartagena_. The main bus terminal. His captor though only seemed interested in watching the building intently.

The red light of the Jeep’s clock tick from 10:47 to 10:48 and Ian worried again about Mickey. Where was he? What was he thinking?

God, he hoped that Mickey knew that Ian would never leave him. Of course, he did! They’d gotten fucking engaged tonight. Mickey was gonna be going ballistic and once again he was gonna need to save Ian’s ass. Unless Ian could figure out how to save it himself.

The little red tube attached to the car keys dangling near his knee contained a single shot of pepper spray. However, it seemed seriously unlikely that he was going to be able to spray the guy in the eye and grab his gun. Even though Mickey had snuck up behind him periodically over the last year in an attempt to train him to respond quickly to threats, it hadn’t worked tonight.

He’d just finished changing out of his jeans and into a pair of grey skinny joggers when he’d felt something nudge his shoulder blade. Jerking around in surprise, he’d stumbled back onto the bed when the muzzle of a pistol appeared in his face. For several seconds, he had remained frozen, his elbows digging into the soft bedding before he came to his senses and leapt from the bed, thinking he could get the gun away from the guy. But the intruder must have been expecting that because he stepped back easily, shaking his head and ordered Ian to get his car keys.

Now Ian was thinking about Mickey returning to the bedroom to find only his jeans waiting on the bed, no Ian. He gripped the steering wheel painfully as an image flashed into his mind of the two of them hiding under the covers this morning, smiling stupidly at each other because, instead of getting on each other, they had just lain in bed playing footsies. Their hands linked between them.

Mickey had asked him if he remembered the moment when he’d first known he loved Mickey. Ian’s mind had whipped through the years, pausing here and there. He remembered realizing how much he’d loved Mickey while watching he disappear into Mexico. He remembered aching for him as the bus took him to basic training. He remembered pressing his hand to the glass in the juvie visiting room and wanting desperately to feel Mickey’s fingers press back against his. But he figured it was probably when Mickey kissed him in front of Ned’s place. At that moment, he had understood that Mickey was committing to him in his own way.

When he asked Mickey the same question, he’d answered that the first time he didn’t kill the idea as quickly as it popped into his head was about five fucking minutes before Terry showed up that day. Then it was like they were being punished for thinking they could be that free.

“You are gay.”

The unexpected sound in the Jeep startled Ian from his thoughts.

“So?”

“I saw you.”

“Saw me what?”

“Behind the fireplace.”

Looking at the other man out of the corner of his eye, Ian could see a tiny smile forming at the corner of his mouth. Before he could look away, their eyes met and it was fucking intense, like the guy was searching his soul for an answer to some question he hadn’t asked.

A flash of his hands down Mickey’s pants and Mickey biting his neck crowded into his brain. Fuck, the guy had gotten an eyeful if he’d seen them behind the courtyard fireplace. When he had pulled Mickey back there, he was only intending to sneak a few kisses and grab his ass a little. But as soon as they were out of sight of all the lighted windows and Ian had pulled Mickey against him, his hands curled into the material of Ian’s t-shirt and his forehead pressed into Ian’s neck. He’d been completely pliant and ready. And a submissive Mickey had always been Ian’s weakness.

So his hands had wound up inside Mickey’s sweat pants, cupping his firm ass and finding his sensitive opening. He might have whispered a few things in his ear until Mickey’s teeth dug into Ian’s collarbone sharply.

He still had those teeth marks.

Ian lifted his hand to his chest, pressing his fingertips to the spot. He would gladly be marked by Mickey. Maybe they could get matching ink instead of wedding rings. Seems fitting after all the bad tattoo ideas the pair of them have had. They could actually put some thought and care into this choice. He was just warming to the idea when that fucking voice spoke again and dragged him back to the present.

“I think maybe I am gay too,” the soft words were the last thing Ian expected to hear. And not for the first time, he wondered why this hardened young man needed help from him.

 

 

Mickey listened to the one-sided Spanish conversation, while ripping open drawers and aggressively pawing through the contents. He wasn’t finding anything that could help them track Ian and the panic laced rage was starting to cloud his mind again.

The bungalow was obviously furnished when the dude moved in as the décor was not youthful hitman but more Latino grandmother. There were absolutely no personal objects around the place, so the two men were searching the main bedroom hoping to find information among the guy’s clothes. Mickey had gone through the closet, and Sebastián was now on the phone.

Just as the Colombian finished his call, Mickey opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out several receipts for Restaurante y Asadero el Jordan that he waved at Sebastián before bringing the location up on his phone.

“A fucking restaurant next door to the bus terminal,” he explained. “Looks like he was there at least three times recently.” Then raised his eyebrows to encourage Sebastián to spill whatever he’d found out.

“I think I got a name based on your description. Dante Ospina,” he said but motioned toward the doorway. “Let’s walk and talk. 24, born in the _comunas_ of Medellin.”

“ _Comunas_?” Mickey grabbed his breaching tool on the way out the door.

“The worst kind of slums,” he explained. “Basically raised by Otoneil and groomed to be Varela’s replacement as head of the _Urabeños_ death squad.”

“Jesus. So the student kills the master type shit?”

“Si, my source says he disappeared once the hits were announced. That the _Urabeños_ and _Rastrojos_ gangs had been working alongside each other peacefully for almost a year, but Otoniel started getting greedy and decided to expand further south into _Los Rastrojos_ territory. First step is to order hits on every minor commander and street soldier currently in Medellin.”

“So what? Our guy suddenly got a conscience or something? Couldn’t stomach knocking off a bunch of little girls?” They had reached Sebastián’s Audi and Mickey opened the passenger’s door.

“You know your street slang, Milkovich,” Sebastián pressed the ignition button and the engine came to life. “I thought maybe domestic life had made you soft.”

“Fuck off,” he responded but without any heat. He had been getting soft and fucking liked it. A lot.

As they made their way out of Mickey’s neighborhood and onto the main drag, he watched the lights of the street whiz by wondering if this was the view Ian had while some remorseful hitman took him away from Mickey. Apparently, this is what happens when you get soft.

When they came to rest at a red light, the recessed storefront for Malagana Café & Bar was on Mickey’s right. His eyes ran over the set of double glass doors and the ivy creeping up and almost strangling the wooden shingle announcing the best mojitos in town on their lookout rooftop.

He supposed that the mojitos he’d had there were fine, but without having tried any others, he wasn’t gonna bet his fucking life on it. When the glass had arrived with sprigs of green shit sticking out all over the place, he’d eyed Ian like it was a joke, but his redhead took a long sip and sighed in pleasure. So Mickey had sipped too. Sure, it tasted fine and all, but he figured he would look less like a queer if he’d stuck his tongue down Ian’s throat right then and there.

As the evening had progressed, he’d drunk more than his fair share of the stupid drinks and ended up swaying to some romantic shit the band was playing while Ian got a little frisky. They weren’t the only guy on guy combo there, so Mickey had let Ian have his way a little. Alcohol, Ian’s hands and a little bit of permission seemed to be all he needed to live recklessly.

Since then, they’d become semi regulars and kind a thought of it as their place.

“We got engaged tonight,” he said. Out loud apparently.

“Officially?” Sebastián asked. “You always seemed married to me.”

“We didn’t fucking see each other for a decade. Some marriage.”

“Maybe you were separated, but I knew you belonged to someone soon after we met.”

“Maybe I did. He sure as shit didn’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

The emotional weight of not knowing what happened to Ian was working like a pressure cooker inside Mickey and he needed to release some of it. He wanted to punch, or better yet shoot, someone but figured talking might be a more sensible option. But if that didn’t help, he had his Ruger on his lap as a back up plan. “He said he, you know, tried to forget me.”

“That sounds serious to me. A person doesn’t _try_ to forget someone that they are able to forget.”

Mickey reached into his cargo pocket for his smokes and tapped one out of the packet.

“Don’t even think of lighting that in my car.”

“It’s a fucking convertible.”

“It’s a vintage Audi R8 V10 with nappa leather seats.”

“Why you letting me put my ass on it then?” he asked reluctantly returning the cigarettes to his pocket.

Sebastián couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “It is also vintage.”

Mickey smiled just a little. “Corny motherfucker.” This brought him full circle to Ian.

“Fuck. What if they aren’t at the restaurant or bus terminal?”

“We figure it out. That is what we do. Our specialty, as they say,” he explained. “So what date shall I enter into my calendar for the wedding?”

“How the fuck should I know? Ian’ll have that shit all figured out by the end of the week, I’m sure.”

“Here or Chicago?”

“I guess it makes sense to go home.”

“You do not sound enamoured over the idea.”

“I go home to see my kid and maybe visit my brother if he can stay focussed enough to remember to meet me. My sister is coming to stay with us after Christmas for a couple months,” he shrugged. “I’m working on getting Yev here for the summer.”

“So you would agree to get married at home because of Ian’s family?”

“Yeah, I guess. I got nothing else there but bad memories.”

“What kind of bad memories?”

“Are we finally having the heart to heart you’re always after?”

But Sebastián remained quiet, his eyes on the darkened road.

“Fucking all of them,” Mickey blurted out angrily. “Depressing fucking place. Cold as shit in the winter, don’t miss that. Don’t miss the dump I grew up in. Don’t miss the sad fuckers trying to get by. Don’t miss the constant grind.”

“Then why do you call it home still?”

“It’s where I met Ian. When I think of him, I think a southside. And he’s home to me.”

Sebastián did look at Mickey that time and he was as shocked as Mickey was that those words came out of his mouth. “This love I also want.”

Mickey barked out a laugh. “Don’t you find love every night.”

“Si, I am a lover. It is true, but I am also hopelessly romantic. I want true love,” he announced grandly. “I am ready.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, man, it’s a real fucking bitch sometimes.”

“You are happy, no?”

“Sure, I am now, but rewind that shit and I had moments where I would a walked away if I’d a been able.” He gave Sebastián the lifted eyebrows to express his seriousness. “That fucking redhead barged into my bedroom and might as well a fucking used a branding iron on me. It’s like he imprinted on my DNA or some stupid science shit like that. I never stood a goddamn chance.”

But Mickey wasn’t done. Whatever he’d started was spewing now and he had no control over it. “I kept falling harder and shit kept happening to show us that we weren’t meant to be a fucking couple. Serious awful shit, not romance novel type shit. Like he said something hurtful and I got my panties in a twist. Shit that fucked us up good. But we kept coming back for more, both of us.”

He was breathing a little heavy now due to speed of his pounding heart. “Until the nail in the coffin. I went to prison long term. It was my fucking fault, yeah, but he—,” deep breath, “he fucking stopped. We had been going in circles around each other for so long, I just thought we always would no matter what crap we were dealing with. But one day, Ian stopped. I thought it was cause of the meds, but I don’t know. I don’t think I ever thought he didn’t love me, but I thought he gave up. On me. On us. That shit hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Do you regret falling in love with him?”

“Did I mention the part about imprinting? Didn’t have a goddamn choice in the whole thing. You sure you want that?”

“From where I’m standing, it seems to be worth every painful moment.”

“Well, fuck. Didn’t have to be _that_ painful.”

“The course of true love n’er did run smooth.”

“You got that shit right.”


	4. I just wanna see my baby

For PrettyCalypso: let's talk about it...

I don't want a lot for Christmas  
This is all I'm asking for  
I just wanna see my baby  
Standing right outside my door

 

“You _think_ you’re gay?” Ian responded.

“Si.”

Okay, Ian thought, he was kidnapped to be this guy’s fucking counsellor? Maybe this is how he gets out of this alive. “You’re attracted to men?” Dumb question. That’s what being gay meant. “You’ve been denying it?”

“Where I come from, men do not fuck other men. Story ends there.”

This Ian could appreciate, and work with. “Yeah, I know those places.” Too well. “And now?”

“I am moving on.”

Ian nodded. “So you’ll be freer to explore your interests?”

Now that they were parked and Ian wasn’t distracted by driving, he turned his body toward the passenger. If he was going to win the guy over and get him to release Ian, then he needed to appear open and understanding. Which under any other circumstances, he would be, but the pistol and the fucking neck tattoo were obstacles to his peace of mind, to say the least.

Not answering, the guy sucked his lower lip between his teeth and the metal ring pierced through it came back out shiny from saliva. He tipped his head down to the pistol in his lap. Ian wasn’t sure but he thought it looked like a Bersa Thunder. Mickey would know. As this random thought floated through his mind, he watched the tattooed fingers stroke the pistol grip. Each finger marked with tear drops.

Jesus, this guy was screaming for attention, gravesites and tears. Maybe he wasn’t as scary as he first appeared, but more desperate. “What is your name?”

“Dante.”

“Well, Dante. I’m Ian.” Maybe being on a first name basis would endear Ian to him.

“Can I kiss you? See if I like it.”

Oh, shit! Ian felt the door handle press into his spine as he backed away from the guy. Not that fucking endearing. “Uh, no, that’s never gonna happen.” Ian watched those fingers slide around the grip until he was palming the gun. “Hey, not because you’re not, um, totally kissable or whatever, but I’m with Mickey, like 100%.” This didn’t seem to anger the guy, so he continued. “I used to be the kind a guy who would take you up on that as like a risk or a challenge or outta some desperate need to be wanted, but I’ve worked hard to be okay with myself, all of myself.”

“Did you ever wish you weren’t gay?”

“No, although I listened to people who thought maybe I should explore my options. Nope, I’m all the way gay and okay with that.”

“Is Mickey all the way gay?”

Ian had to smile a little at this. “Well, yes, but don’t tell him that. He mostly thinks he’s gay because of me not because that’s just the way he is.”

“He didn’t want to be gay?”

“God, no. Where we come from and especially where he came from, it was not okay to be gay. Or at least that’s how it appeared to Mickey. He fought it every step of the way.” Well, except when we were alone together, he thought. “Until he stopped fighting.”

“Then everything worked out?”

Ian turned away to look out the Jeep’s windshield at a family of four pulling wheeled suitcases toward a waiting taxi. “No but for a while it was better, at least between us. Then we were separated. For a long time.”

“¿Qué?" he asked slipping into Spanish as he watched Ian closely.

Ian wasn’t going to examine why he felt compelled to answer all these questions truthfully and fully. He just went with it. “I don’t even know where to start. I was scared. I was stubborn. But mostly I, um, blamed him.”

“¿Para qué?"

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t even fucking know anymore. He was all jumbled up in what I was trying to leave behind. He was beside me through all the shit that happened when we were young, shit that happened to him, to me. So when I thought about all that stuff, Mickey was at the centre of it. How could I escape it all without escaping from him?”

“Maybe you can’t escape.”

“Probably not and I don’t think you’re really escaping if you aren’t being honest with yourself. Back then I had just hoped like hell that if I was focussed enough on the present I would eventually stop caring. Then he disappeared for good. Across the border to Mexico and I had no choice but to move on because he never contacted me again after that.”

“But you are here.”

“Yeah, I guess fate wasn’t finished with us. But this time we were both ready and I will die before being apart from him again.” He turned toward Dante and locked eyes. “Just so you know.”

“I only need you to help me get something from the locker inside the terminal.”

“Oh,” Ian replied in surprise. “You can’t get it yourself?”

“No. People might be watching the lockers.”

Now Ian understood why he was along for this ride. Warily, he asked, “What people?”

“People I work with.”

“Where exactly do you work?”

He gave Ian a wide-eyed look. “I would have to kill you if I told you.” After a beat, “truly.”

Right. “Will I be in danger?”

Shrugging, he waved his gun vaguely at the wide terminal doors. “Depends what my girlfriend told them.”

“Your girlfriend? Does she know you might be gay?”

“Perhaps. It is not love, so she will not be loyal when they come to her asking about me,” he explained then added. “I would not blame her. They won’t play nice.”

“So you want me to go into the terminal and get whatever’s in the locker and bring it out here to you?” Ian thought that sounded like an excellent plan as he was going to find a phone and contact Mickey immediately.

“I will go in with you,” he added and pulled his black FIFA baseball cap low on his forehead. “I doubted my girlfriend’s loyalty. I am not ready to trust you.” With that he handed Ian a small white locker ticket, which he took with a confused frown.

“No key?”

“Scan the card and the locker will open automatically.”

“What’s inside?”

“Ehm, _mochila_.”

“A backpack?” Dante nodded. “Can I ask what’s inside the bag?” Ian imagined money, drugs or worse, guns, explosives.

“Clothes, passport, money.”

A go bag. He was escaping from whoever was watching the bus terminal. As long as he didn’t intend to take Ian with him, then he’d do whatever the guy asked, with pleasure.

“Like you, I am escaping from a life I cannot live any longer. From a life I did not choose to live. Maybe I will find someone to die for.”

Dante opened his door and Ian pocketed the Jeep keys before making their way toward the bright yellow terminal.

 

As they crossed the street toward the terminal entrance, a sleek Audi rolled up to the Hotel Cordialidad Plaza and stopped in front of Restaurante y Asadero el Jordan. The passenger jumped out and entered the restaurant through the front door. Moments later he exited the building, slamming the metal door shut behind him. They pulled away slowly driving past the _Terminal de Transporte de Cartagena_.

 

The interior of the terminal was lightly populated and heavily decorated for the holidays. You’d be hard pressed to find a public spot in Colombian not flamboyantly embracing the season. A large well-lit tree sat between the information center and the front door, and colorful balls hung from the ceiling. A piped in version of _Navidad Feliz_ , the Spanish Jingle Bells, floated out of invisible speakers.

A few people sat on the hard benches either sleeping or engrossed in their personal devices. The ticket booth employee was in a heated conversation with the lone security guard and her voice carried through the plexiglass cage she was housed in. The Juan Valez coffee counter was closed at this hour, but a middle-aged Asian couple sat at the plastic table and chairs.

Ian scanned the bank of doors leading to the bus loading terminal, the _mujeres_ and _hombres_ signs indicating the bathrooms and to the left of that, the wall of luggage storage lockers. Dante had immediately turned toward the racks of brochures advertising tourist activities and buried his face in a _Top 10 Things to do in Cartagena_ guide.

Of the people seated on the benches, only one had the appearance of someone who might want to kill Dante. He was about their age and looked like he’d seen his share of shit but hadn’t seen a bar of soap recently. He was also fast asleep, his chin resting on his chest. If he was here to return Dante to wherever he was supposed to be, then Ian needed to get to the locker quickly before he woke up.

Not giving himself a chance to chicken out, he zeroed in on the magnetic strip reader at the center of the locker units. The sweat from his palm was starting to saturate the locker ticket. He needed to get this shit over with now.

But before he could reach his destination, the middle-aged Asian couple beat him to it. They spread their luggage out around themselves, while the wife dug around in her bag pulling out a credit card. Then returned to her bag for her reading glasses. Slowly they began the process of purchasing a locker, arguing over every decision.

Ian’s attention was split between the couple, the sleeping man and Dante. For fuck’s sake, he thought, maybe he should just continue walking right out the back door into the loading zone. Then what? Could he hide from Dante? Find a phone to call Mickey?

Just then, magically, the machine popped out a rental ticket despite the couple’s bickering, and they moved to one of the opened lockers. Back in business.

The moment Ian reached the industrial grey lockers, he swiped the black stripe on the ticket through the reader and a soft click accompanied the opening of locker B4. Ian had reached the plastic handle and was pulling open the locker door, when he heard a second soft click. This time it was coming from the gun pressed into his spine.

 

 

Before Sebastián could park the Audi in the stall next to their army green Jeep CJ, Mickey was out of the car and yanking open the Jeep’s driver side door. Nothing look different, no signs of struggle, no Ian. He started toward the terminal, but Sebastián grabbed his arm.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Got a plan?”

“To kill the fucker who took Ian.” But Sebastián just looked at him patiently. “Fine. You got something in mind?”

“Yes, I’ll go in the front door. Dante doesn’t know my face. You go in through the passenger loading door. There is a short hallway and the ticket counter that will give you some cover.”

“Yeah, okay, that works.” He smiled morbidly. “Then I can kill him?”

“Yes, the last time you threatened to kill someone over Ian it worked out well for you.”

“Fuck off.”

“No killing unless there’s no other choice.”

They had reached the squat windowless building and Mickey nodded at Sebastián before they separated. Around the side of the building, two double decker Rapido Ochoa coach buses sat unattended. Mickey made his way along the building to the metal loading door. Opening it carefully, he slipped inside.

As soon as he reached the bright florescent terminal, he got his bearings. Sebastián was engrossed in a Cartagena brochure he’d selected from a rotating wire display stand. He was sure Dante was standing behind him at the wall mounted rack, hiding under a baseball cap. A dozen other people were going about their business, but it was Ian who captured his full attention.

He was facing a wall of metal lockers, with one hand inside a locker. He looked tense and Mickey assumed that had a lot to do with the hairy motherfucker behind him. The way the guy was pressed up close to Ian was a dead giveaway that he was trying to hide the gun he was holding.

Fuck, he was being kidnapped a second time tonight.

Ian pulled a black backpack from the locker, the weight of it yanking his arm down. Then slowly closed the locker door. He turned slightly toward the guy and his eyes slid past Mickey’s face. The tiniest smile crossed his face. A smile that matched Mickey’s when Ian lifted his hand slightly to shut the locker door.

He was holding the car keys, and the bright red pepper spray key chain glinted in the light.

 

 

The sight of Mickey standing in the loading zone hallway nearly caused Ian to faint from surprise. He knew he needed to maintain his composure, but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. How they hell did he find him? So fucking fast? He never ceased to amaze him.

Lifting his hand in what he hoped was a natural gesture, Ian asked the solid wall of rank Colombian standing behind him. “What now?” The words were in English and Ian hoped a language barrier would add to the confusion.

“Baños,” he replied tipping his head toward the restroom door. Before he could start in that direction though, a strikingly handsome face appeared in front of him. While it was the kind of face that deserved to be kissed, repeatedly, Ian wanted to kiss if for another reason.

“Disculpe,” Sebastián apologized in his smooth baritone. He held up an unfolded walking map of Old Town, shoving the colorful paper into their faces. Then he started asking questions. Ian could make out a few words, monastery and architecture, and figured he was asking for travel advice.

For a brief moment, he made eye contact with Sebastián and knew he needed to be prepared. Ian slid his finger along the plastic safety mechanism, preparing the tube of pepper spray.

 

 

Mickey watched Sebastián move across the polished concrete floor while looking deeply engrossed in the map he was unfolding. He was making his way toward Ian, leaving Dante unattended at the tourist information stand. Mickey could only worry about one thing right now and that was getting Ian safely away. He agreed with Sebastián that killing someone in the middle of the Cartagena Transport Terminal was a shitty idea, so he dug the aluminum slingshot out of his knee pocket and loaded a small ball bearing into the leather pad, grateful as hell they’d played around with the toy.

Time slowed down as he pulled the thick rubber band back, his gaze locked on the gunman’s temple. He was waiting for the moment the gun was directed anywhere but at Ian. Sebastián would be ready for whatever happened, and just maybe Ian would be too.

Mickey could see Sebastián’s full lips moving, flashing his annoyingly white teeth periodically. He was trying to look non-threatening, but to Mickey’s mind, he just looked crazy. It was nearly midnight in a shitty bus terminal in a dangerous part of Cartagena and he was asking the seediest asshole in the place for tourist tips about old fucking churches.

Ian stepped away from his captor feigning interest in the section of the map Sebastián was pointing at. The movement exposed the .45 in his captor’s hand and Mickey released the rubber band, hoping like hell it found its target.

Seconds later, the projectile struck the dude’s cheekbone. He jerked back with a loud curse, the pistol waving a little wildly. Mickey wanted to kiss Ian when he shoved the slim tube of pepper spray in the asshole’s face and released a stream of oil straight into his eyes. Sebastián twisted the gun out of his hand as he brought his fingers up to his burning eyes.

With Ian safe, Mickey bolted across the terminal. He had a score to settle.

Dante saw him coming and took off toward the front door. Mickey reached into his pocket for the first thing he could find to throw at Dante. With a flick of his wrist, the lead-filled leather sap shot across the open terminal smacking Dante in the back of the neck. He dropped to his knees, giving Mickey the time he needed to tackle him before he was able to get to his feet again.

The impact knocked both men across the floor. And into the Christmas tree, which teetered precariously for a moment before hitting the hard floor with a shattering sound and sending broken ornaments in every direction.

Mickey landed on his knees straddling the other man’s hips. He pressed on his shoulders until he was facing Mickey. When his balled fist connected with Dante’s jaw, Mickey felt the tension and fear seep from his body. It felt so good that he drew his hand back for another shot oblivious to the Christmas carnage around him.

“No, Mickey!” Ian’s voice snapped Mickey out of the euphoric trance he was in. “Stop.”

Mickey turned his head toward Ian but kept his hand twisted in guy’s shirt front. “What?” Ian skidded to a halt beside the entangled men and dropped to his knees.

“I’m okay,” he said wrapping his hand around Mickey’s fist. “I’m fine. Nothing happened.”

“Fuck,” Mickey replied with a deep sigh. “I was so fucking worried about you.” He transferred his hold on Dante’s shirt front to Ian’s shirt front and pulled his redhead toward him for a punishing kiss.

 

Some time later, Ian and Mickey walked out of the _Transporte Terminal de Cartagena_ toward the parking lot. When they reached their Jeep, Mickey crowded Ian against the side of it and ran his hands along his arms, his hips and up his chest. “Jesus Christ, don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“I knew you’d find me,” Ian replied grinning. “I might be starting to get off on this.”

“New role play ideas?” he responded with a kiss. Then added, “I think we should go home.”

“Me too. I wanna get these pants off you.” Ian’s fingers were tugging at the band of Mickey’s combat pants. “Even though you look hot as hell in your warrior get up.”

“What’d’ya mean _get up_?” he asked indignantly before returning to the topic on his mind. “Never mind. Listen, Ian, I mean we should go home, home.”

“We are, in three days.”

“To live.”

“What? Why?” Now it was Ian’s turn to look indignant.

“I just need you to be safe.”

“Safe on the southside? When was I ever safe there? The only bad things that ever happened to me happened in Chicago.”

“You were never kidnapped.”

“Uh, yes, I was. Technically.”

“That’s different. You were never in any danger.”

“I wasn’t in that much danger tonight. Dante never intended to hurt me, and the guy with the gun didn’t stand a chance with you and Sebastián there.”

“Hey, you handled that fucking pepper spray like a pro, man.”

“I did good, didn’t I?” They smiled at each other. “I love it here, Mickey. It feels like we’re free from all the shit that kept us apart. What if we go home and our old life sucks us back in?”

Mickey looked past Ian and considered what he’d said. That was Mickey’s biggest fear as well.

“I’ll go wherever you decide. I stand by that, but promise me we’ll only go home because it’s what you want.”


	5. Baby all I want for Christmas is you

 

I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know  
Make my wish come true  
Baby all I want for Christmas is you

 

Mickey parked the Jeep a few blocks away from Malagana Café & Bar. As he and Ian started to walk toward the bar, Ian pointed at the sleek black Audi parked a few cars behind them. “I see Sebastián is here already.” They chuckled at the bright yellow _MAN ETR_ license plate.

Running his hand down Mickey’s back, Ian added, “You gonna be okay with seeing Dante?”

“I guess we’ll find out, huh?” he replied scrunching up his face. “This is the fucking guy Sebastián has to fall for? He’s taken every gay dude in the country for a test run, and he picks the one guy I want to beat to a pulp.”

“He’s never take me for a test run,” Ian corrected with a little bit of a pout. Then burst out laughing at Mickey’s scowl. “I have to deal with knowing he’s taken you for a few rides.”

“God, stop. Please.”

“Okay, let’s talk about how excited I am that Mandy is coming to stay with us next week. I can’t wait to wander around the city and lounge on the beach all day burning in the sun.”

“How’s this gonna be any different from the rest of the year for you?” Mickey drawled and Ian punched him in the arm. “Yeah, I’m kind a looking forward to having her skinny ass around too. Maybe the sweet life will rub off on her and she’ll wanna stay.”

“You think that’s possible?” he asked excitement in his voice.

“We decided to stay and who would a thought that would happen?”

Ian nodded thoughtful. “And you figure you’ve convinced Svet to let Yevgeny stay with us for the summer?”

“He’s a goddamn teenager. I think he should have a say in the matter. We were running our own lives by the time we were his age.”

“I don’t think you should lead with that argument.”

Once again they cracked up. “Good point.”

 

Taking the stairs up to the rooftop terrace, Ian stopped part way and grabbed Mickey’s arm. Turning to look back at Ian, he had to look down just a little bit because Ian was one step lower. Mickey liked this, so he moved a little closer.

“We’re hanging out with Sebastián and Dante tonight, but I think we should come back next weekend,” Ian began and Mickey planted a kiss on his lips to distract him from whatever idiocy he was about to suggest. The height difference giving Mickey a new appreciation for kissing Ian. “Mmm, and you should pick me up.”

Mickey frowned a little. “We just did that on our way back from Chicago. You made me pick you up in the airport lounge, man.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t pretend we were strangers sitting together on the airplane,” he complained.

“Fuck that,” Mickey countered. “I wasn’t gonna make chit chat with some guy I just met for eight fucking hours. This is supposed to be one of your little fantasies not fucking Oprah.”

Ian’s face fell a little. “You don’t like doing this?”

“Don’t say stupid shit,” Mickey rolled his eyes dramatically. “Why don’t you pick me up instead?”

“No way!” Ian balked poking Mickey in the chest with his index finger. “We also did that, and you made me work too hard. I fucking thought you were really going to go home with that guy!”

Mickey laughed and draped an arm over Ian’s shoulders bringing their noses together. “I love you, man.”

He turned to head up the stairs and Ian added, “I love you too, little candy.”

When Mickey turned around again, Ian was grinning from ear to fucking ear. “Don’t start with me. Or the next fantasy we play out will be me kicking your ass.”

Ian nodded agreeably. Then added, “Do you think Sebastián calls Dante little candy?”

“What did I just say, Ian?”

“Not sure but what I heard was ‘Ian, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I can’t wait to fucking marry you’. Am I close?”

“Dead on.”

 

The rooftop of Malagana Café & Bar was Mickey’s favorite place in Cartagena. The wide open sky in direct opposition to his time spent behind bars, the quiet acceptance of everyone’s lifestyle a relief from southside rules, the warm, relaxing atmosphere nothing like clubs he’d followed Ian to in Boystown. He scanned the roof taking in the wild assortment of flowering plants placed strategically to give the tables privacy. His eyes moved past the salsa band playing soft music next to the small dance floor and past the long bar with colorful bottles of liquor lined up behind it.

That was why they had decided to have a small wedding ceremony here while Mandy was staying with them. This place represented to them the freedom they never knew was possible. Ian had gathered his family together while they were home for the holidays and they’d had a small get together at Fiona’s place to celebrate, and Ian had extended a welcome to anyone who was able to make it to Colombia for the ceremony. He seemed to be content with the arrangement.

Taking Ian’s hand, Mickey led them toward the table where Sebastián and his fucking boyfriend were seated. He was still a little fucked up over Dante’s late night ride with Ian, but Ian seemed to think Dante was his personal project and forbade Mickey from retaliating. So here they all were. Best fucking friends getting together for cocktails apparently.

Mickey Milkovich drinking cocktails on a rooftop terrace. Only Ian fucking Gallagher had the power to turn his world upside down.

Sebastián and Dante were seated at the long bench with two empty seats facing them. Mickey slowed his steps as the two men came fully into his view. Sebastián had one elbow on the white lacquered table and his other arm was resting along the back of the bench. This allowed him to cocoon Dante in the space between his body and half wall behind him. Dante was taking full advantage of it, resting his shoulder on Sebastián’s chest and smiling shyly at him.

Mickey knew that body language, that protective need. He could see the absorbed look, the dedication, the promise of forever. How long until Sebastián had a name tattooed on his skin?

When he stopped a few feet from the table, Ian bumped into him. “What’s up, Mick?”

He turned to face Ian once again. They stared at each other, Ian with a little smirk. Mickey looked around the rooftop bar, then back at Ian. He let out the breath he’d been holding and closed the space between them.

Then he kissed Ian like he never wanted to let him go.


End file.
